


For the Love of Tartan

by witchy_teacup



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Not Oblivious (Good Omens), Crowley Is A Pine Tree In Sunglasses, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Fluff, M/M, Other, Post-Apocanope, even after 6000 years Aziraphale can still surprise Crowley, the second day of the rest of their lives, why does Aziraphale love tartan?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21665668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchy_teacup/pseuds/witchy_teacup
Summary: The Serpent of Eden isn't the only one who has mastered the subtle art of temptation.Or:The one in which Crowley finds out where Aziraphale's tartan addiction came from.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 123





	For the Love of Tartan

Crowley’s jaw dropped from surprise. Sitting just as primly as usual, on their usual park bench, was Aziraphale, but that wasn’t what had Crowley dumbstruck. No, that, dear reader, was what the fussy angel was _wearing_. It was tartan. That itself wasn’t odd. No, the thing was, in a word, a _kilt_. Crowley could see a strip of creamy skin below the kilt and above the nearly knee-high cream-colored socks. Skin! Skin below the level of the angel’s bow tie! Crowley made an abrupt ninety-degree turn and purposefully walked straight into a tree, blatantly ignoring the “Keep off the grass” signs. 

The dumbstruck demon bounced off the innocent tree and glared up at it balefully as he resettled his sunglasses and rubbed at his smarting nose. “Not a dream then,” he muttered. He blew out a harsh breath before turning to risk another glance at the angel. He sucked in a sharp breath at the second glimpse of plump angelic knees. 

“Bless it, bless it, bless it,” he muttered, shaking out his arms like an athlete about to compete. He jumped up and down a couple of times before forcing a mask of carefully indifferent disdain onto his face. He shoved his hands into his jeans’ pockets as he started toward the waiting angel.   
  
Aziraphale glanced up, unable to mask the glimmer of joy at the sight of his counterpart sauntering his way, and said, “Crowley! I was starting to worry I had the wrong time.”  
  
“Was running late. Traffic ya know?” Crowley said with forced carelessness. “I’d have texted you, but you refuse to carry the mobile I bought you,” he added, trying for indifference.  
  
“Oh, yes, I suppose that would have been...useful,” the angel said haltingly. He stood and gestured at the bench in welcome. “Well, have a seat. It’s a lovely day.”  
  
Crowley’s glasses slipped down his nose as his serpentine eyes zeroed in on just how much leg the angel’s kilt revealed. Had Aziraphale always had such lovely round calves and _dimpled_ knees? His gaze darted away guiltily as he collapsed like a bundle of sticks onto the vacant bench. He hastily fixed his glasses to hide his gaze as Aziraphale primly skimmed both hands over his bum, smoothing the skirt’s pleats under his thighs as he sat.  
  
Aziraphale’s blue eyes darted to Crowley’s face as he heard the demon gulp audibly as he resettled on the bench. His lips parted slightly at the plaintive expression that the demon’s glasses couldn’t hide. He resolutely returned his gaze to his own lap, where he had forced his hands into his customary position, clasped over his waistcoat.   
  
Crowley stared openly once he thought Aziraphale wasn’t paying attention. He dragged a hand through his hair. He forced his gaze away, so he missed the way Aziraphale’s eyes darted to follow his hand’s progress through the now shoulder-length curls. The demon also missed the tip of the angel’s pink tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watched Crowley forcing his body to relax into a semblance of his usual slouch.  
  
Aziraphale looked away, trying to look like he hadn’t looked away from the mortals wandering through the park. He took a deep breath and slowly released it, smoothing his hands over the thick tan tartan wool covering his lap.  
  
Crowley’s slit pupils were dragged back to those soft hands of their own accord, but this time the angel caught him looking. He glanced up to see the angel’s fluffy blond head tilt in question. “W-what _are_ you wearing?” he sputtered. “A tartan skirt?”  
  
“Kilt,” Aziraphale said prissily, smoothing his hands over the article in question again.  
  
“Whatever— _why_ are you wearing a ski—kilt?” Crowley insisted, leaning into the teasing.   
  
Aziraphale huffed out a little breath and protested, “I-it is such a lovely, warm day, and I haven’t gotten to wear it in nearly 400 years!”  
  
The number snagged in Crowley’s brain, but his mouth ran on without him, drawling, “Dressing up for me, Angel?”  
  
Aziraphale blushed.  
  
Crowley sat up so quickly that he nearly fell off the bench. “You did!” He let out a single strangled laugh. “You dressed up to see me, Angel.” Feeling emboldened, he ran his gaze over the angel’s form slowly as his angel squirmed. “Is that a new waistcoat? And a new bow tie? And I know I’ve never seen you in a blazer.” He let his glasses slide down now and gave the flustered angel a bemused look over them. “What’s the occasion, Angel?”  
  
Aziraphale’s face went even pinker as he muttered, “T-the second day of the rest of our lives.”  
  
“Wait!” Crowley’s brain had finally caught up with his mouth. “400 years. You said 400 years.”  
  
Aziraphale arched a single eyebrow as if Crowley were a particularly slow student who had finally solved the equation. “Give or take, yes,” came the prim reply.  
  
“Glasgow? Hamlet?”  
  
Aziraphale nodded slowly, making direct eye contact for the first time that day. “When I went up to Glasgow for _our_ assignments, well,” he paused to trail off, “it was the first time I encountered tartan in a notable quantity.”  
  
Crowley laughed long and loud, startling several ducks, who had been sidling closer to them having recognized them as easy targets for free food. 

Aziraphale huffed, “Well really.”  
  
As the demon’s laughter petered off, his angel primly held out a lace-edged handkerchief. Crowley took the hankie, boldly brushing his fingers over the angel’s, to dab at the tears that had sprung to his eyes.   
  
“Sorry, Angel,” Crowley said once he’d caught his breath. “It’s just—you’re saying that _I’m_ the reason for your tartan addiction?”  
  
Aziraphale’s lips twisted into a disapproving moue. “The point I was trying to make, my dear, is that this kilt, and by extension I suppose tartan, reminds me of how our relationship has developed over the years,” he said. “By Glasgow and Hamlet, the Arrangement was in place, we were friends, no matter how much I tried to deny it, and firmly on the path of cooperation that led us here.”  
  
Crowley bit his lip as he hesitated. He was pretty sure his angel was trying to give him an opening, but at the same time, he was terrified of fucking it up and ruining their future only two days into it. He took a deep breath, sitting up and turning to face his angel.  
  
Aziraphale’s eyes darted to Crowley’s lips as his demon reached hesitantly towards him. Long, cool fingers cupped his face and he found himself melting towards him as Crowley slowly closed the distance between them. Cool lips brushed his and his hands flew up to bury themselves in fiery curls of their own accord. 

The kiss started chaste, hesitant, but Aziraphale soon found himself pouring all of the love he felt for the one creature who’d always been there for him throughout the earth’s history into the kiss, not caring one wit that anyone could see them.  
  
When Aziraphale finally released him, Crowley drew a shaky breath and said, “Maybe tartan’s not so bad.”  
  
Aziraphale laughed and kissed him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed this. I certainly enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> Was this partly (mostly) selfishness on my part because I freaking love the idea of Aziraphale in a kilt? Probably (definitely). Am I sorry? Not a bit!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought of it!


End file.
